


Hideaway

by DreamingAngelWolf



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky figuring things out, Eventual Relationships, Flashbacks, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Winterhawk Week, Winterhawk Week 2016, a poor excuse for a black ops team, my shitty action sequences, random Avenger cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6939202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of reclaiming his identity, Bucky Barnes has trouble enough dealing with violent flashbacks without the Avengers arguing about it around him. When one such incident leads to him lashing out at Clint Barton, the only person who doesn't treat Bucky like someone who needs constant watching-over, Bucky needs space and time to sort out his feelings. Unfortunately for the notorious ex-assassin with multiple enemies past and present, that's not as easy as it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hideaway

**Author's Note:**

> Hooray, another prompt crossed off the list! 
> 
> This one was: "Bucky lives at stark tower, Bucky has bad flashbacks, everyone but Clint coddles him and only Clint can get him through those moments without sedative. Bucky falls for Clint, freaks out, clint tries to help but Bucky lashes out, hurting Clint and telling him to leave/stay away... Go where you will. (If you don't mind/don't hate it maybe add parent cap/stark to Peter Parker and spideypool? Not necessary at all just a thought)". 
> 
> Now, I should say that Steve/Tony is actually one of my NOTPs, so I haven't included that in here ~~though I have no doubt Stony shippers will be able to see it anyway. I know what you're like. :P~~ \- always down for some Spideypool though, so there's glimpses of those two here and there. Also, sorry for my poor Tony Stark characterisation; I don't think I quite nailed everyone I included, but I'm especially unsure about him (I don't write him very often...). As for "everyone but Clint coddles him", well, I may not have stuck to that either - but only because I don't see any of the Avengers as 'coddlers'. Otherwise, I think I more or less kept to the prompt...? Oh, and some translations are at the end of the piece.
> 
> If the original prompter is reading this, I would also like to briefly apologise for how long this has taken to write, and say that I really hope the wait was worth it. (It's now 3:30am here, I've been writing all day to get this uploaded in time for Winterhawk Week. It might be day 2 where I am, but it's still day 1 somewhere!)
> 
> Happy Winterhawk Week, folks! :D

“What did I do?” was usually the first question Bucky asked whenever he woke up in his room with Steve by his bed. And Steve, true to form, would fix him with that ‘I don’t approve of this’ look before telling him what he wanted to know. Bucky knew that Steve thought he asked so he could beat himself up, or add it to his list of things to atone for, but the reality of it wasn’t so masochistic; he needed to know so he could line events up properly in his mind. Following a flashback, it was never clear how his memories of the past interacted with what was going on in the present. Knowing what he’d done alongside what he’d been experiencing was more like fixing a mirror than self-flagellation. 

So why didn’t he just tell Steve that? 

On this occasion, the retelling was blessedly brief, with the only casualties being a piece of artwork and a kitchen chair. “Oh, and Clint’s nose,” Steve added. “He was standing too close when you reacted to Wanda’s intervention.” He sighed. “Tony’s now even more fascinated after that. Wants to know just how sensitive your arm is.” 

“Yeah, well, he’ll have to guess,” Bucky said shortly, and rolled of the bed. Steve stood with him, watching for any ill-effects from the sedative. 

“You know, we almost didn’t have to sedate you this time,” he said as he followed Bucky out of his room. “Clint actually almost had you back by himself.” 

Bucky swallowed, heading for the kitchen. “He did?” 

Steve nodded. “Right until Wanda tried to help. And she was trying to help, she didn’t mean to –” 

“I know, Steve. You’re all trying to help. It’s much appreciated. Really.” Despite what his tone might suggest. 

“So why do you keep insisting on the sedative?” 

“Because sometimes trying to help backfires.” They arrived at the kitchen then, and Bucky made a beeline for the fridge, determined to come across as unbothered by the numerous stares his presence suddenly attracted. Once he had a lemonade in hand, he turned to Wanda and gave her a tight smile. “No hard feelings,” he said to her, and although the guilt didn’t quite leave her face she smiled back. On the stool next to her, Clint was holding a bag of peas against his nose. Bucky’s own guilt curled around his gut then, and he cringed at his ‘handiwork’. “Sorry about your nose, Clint.” 

“I would say it’s already forgotten, but it hurts like a bitch still, so, hold onto that apology for a little longer,” Clint said. He had that twinkle in his eyes, the one that made Bucky want to smile whenever he recognised it. 

He managed to cover up his schoolboy reaction by drinking from his lemonade can, just in time for Tony Stark to make a grand entrance. “Ah, Jekyll – just the man I wanted to see!” 

“No.” 

Tony halted in front of him. “No, you’re not Jekyll, or no, you’re not the man I wanted to see?” 

“Both.” 

“I see. Anyway, I have a few questions I want to ask you. I would’ve done so earlier but, you know, you were much more Hyde then, and I didn’t want to end up like Clint over there.” Clint raised a hand. “But, seeing as you’re flashback-free for the next, what, two hours, three hours –” 

“Tony,” Steve said warningly, stepping up next to Bucky. “Now’s not the time.” 

Pausing, Tony sniffed, and pointed casually at Steve. “You’re doing it again,” he said, moving over to the coffee machine. 

“Doing what?” 

“That thing where you speak for everyone.” He held a cup out in Clint’s direction, and behind the peas, Clint nodded eagerly. Bucky was yet to see him refuse coffee, no matter what state he was in. 

“Well you’re deciding to intervene where you don’t need to, again,” Steve retorted, arms folded, fixated on Tony enough that he missed Bucky’s eye-roll. “He’s just woken up. Let him have a few minutes.” 

“Are you going to let him speak for himself?” 

“That’s not what this is about.” 

“Right, ‘cause you’re never at fault when it comes to Barnes.” 

“At least I’m thinking about someone other than myself!” 

Bucky crushed his lemonade can as he strode out of the kitchen, hoping that neither Steve nor Tony had noticed his departure. They’d all heard the same argument before, and for all they talked about ‘thinking of others’ and ‘wanting to help’, neither of them seemed to consider that that wasn’t what they were doing. If Steve was really thinking of him, he’d notice that his defence of Bucky wasn’t necessary or wanted, and if Tony really wanted to help, he’d wait until Bucky asked for it. Exhaling heavily through his nose, Bucky turned towards the range. 

Up ahead of him, the elevator doors opened for Carol and Natasha. They were deep in discussion until they caught sight of him. “Bucky,” Carol said, smiling. “How are you feeling?” 

He was beginning to hate that question already. With a tight smile in return, he said, “I’m fine, thanks, Carol. Natasha,” he added with a nod. 

“James,” she said, expression… pleasant. “Where are you headed?” 

“Just the range.” 

“Without Steve?” Carol said. 

Small mercies. “No. He’s arguing with Tony in the kitchen.” Right over Clint and his coffee, probably. 

She hummed sympathetically. “Yeah, that’s enough to put anyone on edge.” 

Bucky frowned. “I’m not on edge.” 

Blinking, she said, “I didn’t say you were.” 

“You do seem a little tense, though,” Natasha commented, and Bucky scowled at her. 

“Alright,” he said, close to snapping. “Sure. I’m a little tense.” 

“And you’re going to the range?” 

That was when he noticed it – the way they were watching him. Carol’s hands were still by her hips, and although Natasha looked relaxed, he could see a readiness in her arms and in the placement of her feet, her eyes watching him too intently. He’d had one loud episode already that day, yet here they were, expecting him to have another one. He clenched his jaw. “Not anymore.” 

“Where, then?” Carol called after him as he shouldered past them. 

“Somewhere I can breathe by my goddamn self!” Namely, the roof. 

When he’d first come to Avengers Tower, Bucky had claimed a space to himself by barricading the door to his room. It had worked for all of two days, after which point Steve had gotten Tony to cut the door off its hinges so he could barge in and see that Bucky was not, in fact, missing or hurt in any way, shape, or form. The following few weeks had been hell in terms of finding room to breathe – somebody always seemed to be somewhere in the tower, no matter where he went or what time of day it was (too many fucking Avengers) – until one day, Clint had offhandedly mentioned that the roof was accessible and rarely visited. “I’ll tell everyone you’re in the basement,” he’d said, and for the first time in almost a month Bucky had had more than one hour to himself. Since then, it had become a regular escape point. 

Mid-afternoon New York was nothing spectacular. The early spring air was cool and grey, not quite dark enough to carry the threat of rain. Bucky sat with his legs dangling over the edge, the giant ‘A’ that adorned the building some feet below him. He listened to the wind, letting it cleanse his thoughts and sweep away the tension that had gathered in him since he’d come to. Absently, he pressed the tips of his fingers to the spot where the sedative had gone in – hard – at his neck, mouth curling down at the ache that flared up under the touch. It was necessary, he reminded himself. Nothing else stopped him while he was in the throes of a flashback, not even a team of superheroes. They could restrain him well enough, but so far, the only way to truly end them was by putting him out, and surprisingly few people were willing to do that “the old-fashioned way”, as Clint had once put it. 

Hadn’t Steve said something about Clint nearly calming him down earlier? 

The roof access door behind him opened, and Bucky turned sharply at the sound, though he relaxed when he saw who it was. Speak of the devil, he thought. “How’s your nose?” 

Clint shrugged. “I’m sure it’s had worse. Coffee helped, though, so you can try that apology again.” 

Bucky smiled wryly. “Sorry.” 

“’s alright. You’re forgiven.” He swung his legs over to mirror Bucky, breathing in deeply as he took in the horizon. “You don’t have to worry about anyone coming up,” he said. “Carol got between Steve and Tony, and she’s giving them an earful about not treating you like a kid, or something. Nat knows I’m with you, but she’ll keep anyone from looking for us.” 

Relief loosened the last knot in Bucky’s chest. “Thank you,” he said genuinely. 

Glancing at him, Clint chuckled, shaking his head. “Remember the first time I came up here after you? And you threatened to throw me onto the Quinjet landing bay?” 

He winced. “In my defence, I’d been deprived of being alone for a month before.” 

“And I surprised you, I know, but throwing me off a building still seemed harsh.” 

“I figured it happened enough to you that you wouldn’t be too badly hurt.” Clint barked a laugh. “I try not to make a habit of it, you know! And, unlike the rest of you, I’m not actually a ‘super’ hero.” He tapped his knuckles against his head. “Regular human stuff in here. Gets hurt like a regular human, too.” 

His bruised nose was a tribute to that, Bucky mused. “So what’s your point?” he asked. 

“Hm? Oh – just that you went from threatening to do me serious bodily harm to looking like a kicked puppy over a busted nose.” Clint grinned. “I’d say that our relationship’s headed in the right direction.” 

Grinning back, Bucky heard himself saying, “And what direction’s that?” 

He lifted one shoulder easily. “Whatever you want.” 

The response startled Bucky, who gawped like a fish for a moment before looking down at his lap. He had to be mishearing what Clint was saying. There was no way anyone in their right mind would offer to be more than friends with the guy who, hours earlier, had fucked up their nose, someone notorious for doing that and so much worse on a pretty regular basis. Clint was smarter than that, despite the ‘dopey idiot’ front he often put on. And, yes, maybe he had been on Bucky’s mind a hell of a lot lately (when it wasn’t stuck in flashbacks), but that didn’t mean that Bucky had been asking him to – 

“Well,” Clint said, clapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and swinging his legs back onto the roof. “It’s been a blast, as always, but I gotta go check in with R&D.” 

Bucky snapped back to the present. “New arrows?” 

“Not this time.” He tapped his ears. “New hearing aids. Apparently they’ve been working with Tony to make them longer lasting or something, I don’t know. They explained it all to me, but the batteries died mid-way through, and I can’t lip-read technical words for shit, so…” He shrugged, and Bucky shook his head at him. “You staying up here?” 

“No,” he said after a moment. “I’ll come back in. Reckon I can catch up on some television or something, keep Steve happy.” 

“You know,” Clint said as they made their way to the stairs, “Dog Cops is still in the favourites menu.” 

“I am not watching a TV show about talking dogs.” 

“They’re canine cops, Bucky!” 

“I know –” 

“They solve crime and everything!” 

“They sniff bones and chase cats.” 

“Okay, one: Nimh and the Squeakers are not cats, and two: they are the scariest rats I have ever seen ever.” 

“You’re an Avenger and you’re scared of rats?” 

“Hey, rats can be pretty big. Trust me on that.” 

***

The Tower’s recreational floor was blessedly quiet when Bucky reached it, with only Peter Parker sat on one of the sofas, a brown bottle in hand. He recognised Star Wars playing on the large television screen, and when he asked if he could join, Peter lazily waved a hand at the space on the couch. 

Glancing at the bottle as Peter took another swig, Bucky asked, “That kind of day?” 

Peter gave him a tired look. “It’s Root Beer,” he said. “And I was out with Wade earlier, so, yeah, it’s been one of those days.” 

Bucky hummed in understanding, perfectly willing to let that be the end of it. Just his luck Peter was a chatterbox. 

“I mean, we weren’t supposed to do anything today, you know? We were just gonna grab a hotdog, maybe some Mexican, head over to Central Park and just relax. No guns, no swords, no web, no suits. Nothing. Just hot dogs and park. And I knew that Sam, Pietro, Jess and Thor would take care of anything that went ‘Boo’, and I told Wade as much, but next thing I know the frickin’ Serpent Society is bursting straight out of the pond – yeah, don’t ask me how long they were there for – and Wade’s throwing the Spider-suit in my face. In public!” 

When he took another swig of the Root Beer, Bucky thought that might have been the end of Peter’s rant. 

“Like, why did that have to happen to us?” 

Nope. 

“How did hot dogs and park turn into hot dogs and park and super-heroing? I mean, God forbid we should ever try to Netflix and chill after that. And why did he have my suit? You’d think he set it all up or –” With a groan, Peter dropped his head back against the cushions. “If I find out he sabotaged hot dogs and park, I’m gonna hide his chimichanga allowance for a year, I swear.” 

Sighing inwardly, Bucky wished Clint hadn’t had to go to R&D. He was good with Peter. Heck, he was good with everyone. 

“What about you?” Peter asked. “I heard you went all Winter Soldier on Clint’s nose earlier. I mean, uh, that you –” 

“Yeah. I did.” 

“Oh. That sucks, man,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw him glance at the television. “You know, if you wanna change the film to something less action-y – you know, just in case it triggers you again – not that that’s gonna happen again, I’m sure, but just in case –” 

“The film’s fine, Peter.” It was hard to imagine himself being a Jedi-turned-Sith (even if the parallels were there); he couldn’t even imagine himself going to space, anyway. 

“Okay. Good, that’s great,” Peter said, and settled down again. A moment later, he thrust a bottle under Bucky’s chin. “Root Beer?” 

Bucky took it out of gratitude for the gesture, and for something else to do. It was nice of Peter to trust him, he thought, cracking the top open with the flat tip of his metal thumb. The first time he’d asked for a beer in the Tower, Tony’s computer butler (or whatever JARVIS was) had contacted S.H.I.E.L.D. for clearance. Why anybody needed ‘clearance’ to have a beer was absurd. A few people had been offended on Bucky’s behalf, which had been nice. Chief among them had been Steve, Sam, and Clint. 

That was another advantage to Clint showing him the roof escape: they’d had more than a few ‘secret’ beers up there together, primarily because, as Clint had put it: “If you didn’t think you could handle a beer, you wouldn’t have the beer; and if there are consequences, we’ll deal with them afterwards. That’s what drinking beer’s about!” 

He’d said “we’ll deal with them” so easily. 

“Hey,” Bucky said to Peter. Hesitantly, he went on, “You and Wade.” 

“It sounds dysfunctional, I know,” Peter said immediately. “But it’s like I told Steve and Tony – who are both acting like they’re my dad, or something, it’s weird – I’m happy with Wade. Really. And I can take care of myself.” He narrowed his eyes at Bucky suddenly. “Did one of them put you up to this?” 

“No,” Bucky said. “I’m just…” He paused, shaping the question in his mind. “How do you keep his reputation from getting between you both?” 

“I don’t.” 

“What?” 

Peter sighed, spreading his hands helplessly. “Wade is Deadpool,” he said. “And, yeah, I know what he’s done and what he’s capable of – I’d be stupid to ignore that. But at the end of the day, Deadpool is also Wade, y’know? They’re two halves of one whole, cliché totally intended. All that means is that I get to see beyond Deadpool’s reputation – under the mask, if I’m being corny about all this – to the parts that are overlooked or rarely noticed by those who just go, ‘Oh, that Deadpool’s a psychotic murderer’. I’m not saying the parts of Wade I love absolve the parts of Deadpool I don’t love,” he added, “but a reputation isn’t what makes a person. It’s the reputation plus whatever else is missing from it. Oh!” He sat up, facing Bucky fully. “It’s like Hemingway’s Iceberg Theory – ten per-cent of what you see is what it is, but there’s still ninety per-cent under the surface. The bit you have to look harder to see.” 

Bucky frowned. “Are you comparing your boyfriend to an iceberg?” 

“Believe me, he’s compared himself to worse,” Peter said with a snort. “Can I ask why the interest in my love life all of a sudden? If not on Steve’s behalf? Or Tony’s.” 

Taking a drink, Bucky cleared his throat and shook his head, attention back on the movie. “Just trying to work something out,” he muttered. 

‘Iceberg Theory’. Somehow, Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted Clint to know what was lying under his surface. 

***

“… just siblings, you know? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not comparing Rebecca to Barney – there’s probably nothing to compare. Barney’s an ass, always has been, and I highly doubt your sister would steal anything from you past the age of… uh, how old was she when you last saw her? Anyway, point is: they drive you mad, but you still love them, I guess.” 

Bucky blinked. “What?” 

A grin slowly spread over Clint’s face. “I just beat Peter’s record for talking non-stop,” he said. He was stood in front of Wanda, Sam, and Thor, all of whom looked on-edge and worried. Red tendrils played between Wanda’s fingers. Clint had an arm extended back towards them, holding them at bay. 

Looking around, Bucky spotted Steve kneeling down by a broken coffee table, Carol lying on one elbow among the splinters. Further right, Tony was stood with a gauntlet-covered hand pointing in Bucky’s direction. On the wall by the door was Jess, blood trickling down from her forehead. In the kitchen to Bucky’s left, Pietro was eating peanut butter straight from the jar, eyes darting between Bucky and the group behind Clint. Finally, Bucky clocked his own stance, his racing heart, and the knife clasped in his fist. 

“Shit,” he breathed, and relaxed his position instantly. He looked back over his shoulder at Jess, who stepped down from the wall slowly, and then checked the knife, which was clean. “What happened?” 

“Nothing,” Steve said, even as he helped Carol to her feet. 

“You were going toe-to-toe with Carol and Jess,” Clint said. Behind him, Wanda’s magic disappeared, and Sam and Thor straightened up. “Superficial damage only, nothing that isn’t going to last.” 

“For Jess, at least,” Tony said, and Jess hissed at him to be quiet. 

“I’ll be fine,” Carol said, though Steve was still supporting her weight. To Bucky, she said, “You didn’t hurt anyone else. Clint got your attention and talked you down.” 

“Putting himself at risk, of course,” Tony added. 

Clint glared at him. “I knew what I was doing.” 

“You had no idea what you were doing. You played a hunch.” 

“It worked.” 

“This time, sure. And it only took you, what, ten minutes? Fifteen?” 

“What do you mean, ‘this time’?” Sam asked. 

“I mean that there’s probably going to be a next time,” Tony said, approaching the kitchen, “and that when that happens, talking to him might not work. Do you have to do that?” he said to Pietro, who darted across to stand behind Thor, still spooning peanut butter into his mouth. “My point is,” Tony continued, as his gauntlet opened up, “that there are faster and more reliable ways of stopping the Winter Soldier from nearly killing one of us than having a friendly chat.” He took a dart from out of the mechanical hand, placing it on the island surface. 

“Seriously?” Clint snapped. “That’s your answer? Drug him every time it happens?” 

“If it means you don’t have to put your life on the line, Clint, then yes.” 

“If he was trying to kill me, he wouldn’t have stopped!” 

“Not every assassin you meet is willing to listen to you!” 

“Hey, Bucky’s not an assassin anymore,” Steve said. 

“He still has the skills of one. You of all people should know that, Steve.” 

“So does Natasha,” Sam pointed out. “I don’t see you suggesting we drug her every time she has a nightmare.” 

“Nobody objected to the Hulkbuster,” Tony said. “Not even Bruce. How is this so different?” 

“Oh, come on, Tony, you can’t compare Bucky to the Hulk!” Clint said. 

“Out-of-control rage monster who could kill us all, out-of-control deadly assassin who could kill us all –” 

“He’s not going to kill us all!” 

“He’s standing right here!” Bucky yelled, bringing everyone’s attention back to him. “And he’s fed up with all of this.” He dropped the knife on the island and turned to leave. 

Clint spoke up behind him. “Hey, Bucky –” 

“No, you shut up!” Suddenly furious, Bucky whirled on him. “What the hell were you thinking? You saw what I did to Carol and Jess, and you thought you had a better chance of stopping me than them? And don’t you dare say you knew what I wasn’t going to do – not even I know what I’ll do when this happens, Clint! The Winter Soldier has a reputation, and it doesn’t matter what you claim to see beyond that. You’ve seen what I can do to super-humans. What do you think I could to do to someone like you?” 

Stony-faced and silent, Clint said nothing. 

Breathing hard, Bucky pointed at the syringe in front of Tony. “That is the surest and safest way to take me down,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, that makes it the only way.” And with that, he left, ignoring Steve’s call for him to wait. 

***

Dusk was staining the sky by the time he found somewhere to stop: a grungy hotel sandwiched between a multi-storey parking lot and the shell of a liquor store. It had an odd sign that read, ’20 rooms 20 vacancies’, with changeable numbers, and the bell above the door didn’t ring when Bucky pushed it open. The girl behind the welcome desk was engrossed in a magazine, her feet up on the woodwork, and she barely made eye contact with Bucky as he paid for a room on the top floor. Being ignored was a welcome change. 

After leaving the Tower – a surprisingly easy endeavour – Bucky had chosen a direction and wandered down the New York City side streets, putting all his effort into not thinking about anything to do with his life. The hotel had only pulled him in because his brain had decided that two flashbacks in two days was enough to tire him out early, and he doubted he’d be found too quickly in such a place. The sign out front could be an issue, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much. If Steve or whoever found him wanted him back at the Tower that badly, they could drag him there by his ankles. 

Not feeling hungry, he put the television on, closed the curtains to the stellar brick wall view and laid on the bed, staring up at the dirty ceiling. Drained of both anger and care, his thoughts wound back to what had transpired over the last couple of days, tangling themselves in knots and circles and tiring him out further. He was frustrated on a number of levels – the Avengers were so careful around him sometimes, with precautions and safety measures and plans and at times it drove him nuts; he wasn’t delicate, he didn’t need special care, and he sure as hell didn’t want it. But on the other hand (a shiny, metal, Soviet-made one), he was dangerous enough that he was glad there were protocols and procedures around him, however grey and invisible they were. Limiting his alcohol intake, for example – irritating, yes, but understandable. Being mindful of what film he was watching – probably not something someone else should be deciding for him, but sensible, all the same. The sedative – wholly unpleasant, entirely necessary. 

And just like that, Clint popped up in his brain. 

With hindsight, Bucky could see Clint’s actions the way Clint probably saw them: standing up for Bucky’s autonomy, for the belief that he didn’t need to be stuck with a needle, and the chance that he might one day be able to get over the flashbacks entirely. He could also see that he’d gone and thrown that in Clint’s face so very spectacularly, effectively calling him weak in front of the people Clint had stopped on his own so that Bucky didn’t have to be forcefully sedated. And yesterday, he’d been wondering if Clint was suggesting he was interested in a relationship beyond friendship. 

Dammit. 

A knock on the door ended his reverie. Bucky checked his watch, sighing when he worked out only half an hour had passed since he’d arrived. Nevertheless, he went to answer the door, turning the volume down on the television as he passed by it. 

It was Clint. “Hi.” 

Somehow, Bucky wasn’t surprised. “Hi.” 

The archer rubbed his neck. “Uh, can I come in?” 

Bucky stepped aside. The usual feeling of calm that settled over him whenever Clint appeared was non-existent now. He didn’t like it. 

“Nice place,” Clint said, turning on the spot. 

“No it isn’t.” 

“Nicer than some.” They locked eyes for a moment, and Clint sighed loudly. “This is the part where I’m supposed to bring you in,” he admitted. 

Nodding, Bucky said, “I figured.” 

“Will you?” 

“Not yet.” 

Clint chuckled. “I told them as much.” 

“How’d you know I was here?” 

“Redwing.” 

Sam’s drone, of course. Capable, discreet, and not something an unthinking spy would see. Another protocol he both hated and was glad for. 

“Steve wanted to come,” Clint continued, “but I played my ‘rogue assassins track record’ card. Hope you don’t mind.” 

“I don’t,” Bucky assured him quickly. “Actually, I… I’m glad it’s you.” 

The corner of Clint’s mouth twitched as he raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He licked his lips nervously. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. About you not thinking and only being human. Because I know that you do think. You think about everyone, usually ahead of yourself. And that can be really infuriating sometimes, Clint, especially when you’re a little more vulnerable than the people you’re putting first.” His nose was still a funny colour, Bucky noticed, before adding: “But it’s less worrying than it would be if you weren’t able to keep up with the rest of us. And, also, thank you for sticking up for me.” 

Smiling broadly, Clint said, “Anytime. And I’m sorry, too. We shouldn’t have been talking about you like that. There wasn’t any – oh.” 

“Oh?” 

Making a face, Clint held up a finger and pulled one of his hearing aids out, mumbling something along the lines of, “Aw, batteries.” 

Bucky found himself smothering a grin behind his hand. This was typical Clint – completely together one moment, stumbling along the next, all with a haphazard ‘what can you do?’ attitude and more lives to rival a cat. 

“My hearing aids died,” Clint told him, a little loudly and with slightly slurred words. 

“I noticed,” Bucky said, also raising his voice. With a pang of dismay he said, “You probably need to go back, right?” 

“I should. Don’t have to – can read your lips.” 

It was at that moment the electricity went out, silencing the television and throwing the room into darkness. Someone shouted something in the street outside, and Bucky went to open the curtains, forgetting that his view amounted to a liquor store’s brick wall and nothing else. He fished his phone out of his pocket, and that was what put him on alert – it wasn’t turning on. Standing in front of Clint again, he waved his phone in front of Clint’s face, hoping he could see it. Clint produced his own phone, which was also dead, and Bucky’s mind was made up: something was going on. 

Listening hard, Bucky carefully took hold of Clint’s wrist with his metal hand. He could hear movement downstairs – one, maybe two floors below them – but nothing coming from the roof. Whoever they were they were behaving like amateurs, or else they didn’t know which floor to target. Even so, a professional team would have covered both the roof and the ground exits, which meant that there was a way out. 

Clint’s pulse was thrumming under the sensors in Bucky’s palm. He moved his thumb in what he hoped was a reassuring manner as he bent down to slip the knife out of his boot. Pressing it against Clint’s sternum, he waited until Clint took it before shifting his grip from wrist to hand, squeezing gently before giving a light tug to encourage him to follow. 

Outside, in the corridor, the situation wasn’t much better. Aside from the girl at the desk, Bucky was pretty sure he and Clint were the only people in the hotel pre-blackout. There was no way of knowing how many assailants there were, or of communicating what he was thinking to Clint. All he knew was that there was a number of people looking for them, and their best chance of getting out without an incident was via the roof. So – find the roof. 

With his free hand, he took one of Clint’s fingers and pointed it upwards, hoping the message got across, and lead him down the corridor, away from the stairs. Thank goodness the hotel was bad enough it didn’t have an elevator. They moved quickly, Bucky trying to keep them quiet over the creakier floorboards, and eventually he found an exit door with a single staircase behind it leading up. Squinting through the gloom he led Clint up, keeping one ear open for the sound of someone following them. When he spotted the door at the top, he gave Clint’s hand a quick squeeze and hurried them up the last steps, praying the door wasn’t locked as he pushed the bar to open it. 

Moonlight floods the stairwell around the silhouette of a man, who turns and stares wide-eyed at Bucky through a balaclava. 

His hand flew to an earpiece. “Auf dem Dach! Auf dem – oof!” 

Bucky kicked him solidly in the solar plexus, pulling Clint after him as he advanced on the masked stranger. It only took another punch to knock him out, and he grabbed the man’s earpiece as soon as he hit the concrete, listening for any chatter to give him a clue as to what was going on. 

“They’re coming here,” he said to Clint, thankful that it was just light enough outside for him to lip-read. “German, numbers unknown.” He paused to search the man for weapons, finding just a Glock with one clip in it. Who were these people? 

“You have a plan?” Clint near-shouted, and Bucky reminded himself that the enemy was already on their way up. 

He tried to understand the people coming after them – knock out the electrics, go in from the ground, leave one man guarding the roof with just a pistol. Who did that going up against an Avenger and the Winter Soldier? Just because a fight seemed easy didn’t mean it would be. Confused and struggling to know what best to do, Bucky looked to the sky, inadvertently coming up with an answer. 

On the ground, the guard groaned. Bucky pointed to the sky, asking Clint as clearly as he could, “Can you look for Redwing?” 

“Redwing?” Clint nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Get behind me,” Bucky said, “and let me know when you’ve spotted him.” 

Clint didn’t hesitate, stepping around Bucky as he hauled the German up to his feet, holding the gun to his temple. “Sei nicht dumm,” he warned over the sound of approaching feet. 

The figures who filtered out from the staircase looked like Black-Ops mercenaries; fully automatic rifles were all primed and aimed before they even took stock of the situation, and the individuals carrying them fanned out around him smoothly, keeping him in their sights. The weapons weren’t a particularly high-grade, though, and despite the night-vision goggles adorning their faces the rest of their gear looked similarly low-key. Bucky doubted there was any substantial protection underneath the black jackets, and he wondered again who these people were and why they were coming for him so poorly prepared. There were nine of them, ten including the one he held. They stood in a semi-circle before him, not speaking, not moving. 

What the fuck was going on? 

“Wer hat dich geschichkt?” he demanded. 

The figure straight ahead of him pulled up their balaclava. “Let go of our friend,” a woman’s voice said, “and nobody else has to die today.” 

“Who sent you?” Bucky repeated, adjusting his grip on the guard. 

“We are not at leisure to say.” 

“Are you mercenaries?” he asked, knowing that the more he talked the longer that gave Clint. “Because whoever hired you either didn’t tell you who you were going up against, or sent you in as expendables.” 

Her pause confirmed that they were unprepared out of ignorance. “Let him go,” she said again. 

“You don’t wanna kill him,” Bucky continued, still waiting on Clint. “Neither do I. Because never mind that I’ve probably killed more people than all of you combined in the collective space of a few years, I’ve hurt too many in the last few days, and while I really don’t want to do anyone else anymore damage, you’re not giving me much of a choice here.” 

“Was meint er?” another mercenary asked. They were unsettled now, heads twitching as they stole quick glances at one another. Bucky flexed his fingers around the Glock’s grip, reflecting light off the metal digits. A few of them flinched, and one even took their goggles off. 

“You clearly don’t know what you’re dealing with,” he said, addressing all of them. A hand patted his right shoulder, and he smiled briefly. “Go now, and you might all make it in one piece.” 

“Give us our man first,” the woman said, jerking her chin at him. 

Bucky shook his head. “Leave slowly, and you’ll get him back.” 

Suddenly, the guard spat, “Fick dich!” and jabbed Bucky in the stomach with a Taser. Bucky yelped in surprise, jerking away on reflex, and the guard slipped from his loosened grasp. He whacked Clint over the back of his head with the device, snatching the knife and putting him in a choke hold of his own, turning back to Bucky with a glint of triumph in the gap of his mask. 

Still twitching from the Taser, Bucky aimed the Glock his way. No sooner was it level with the man’s head did a couple of bullets ricochet off his metal arm, almost making him drop the weapon. He went still, and no more shots were fired. In the choke hold, Clint blinked heavily, struggling to stay upright, and Bucky swallowed; if they weren’t so outnumbered and somewhere with better cover, they might have stood a chance against the hit squad. As it was, Redwing was their only hope. 

“Drop your weapon!” the squad leader shouted at him. 

“So you can kill us both?” he shouted back, wondering if Clint could still read him. 

“We will let your friend go if you surrender.” 

“And why should I believe that?” 

“He was not our target, and you do not want him dead.” 

“And you’ve got no problem with leaving witnesses?” Bucky shook his head. “Boy, you were really sold out on this.” This squad couldn’t have been sent in to succeed – they lacked the professionalism anyone who wanted to take out high-profile targets would look for in a kill team. So what were they? A test? A distraction? 

“Put down your weapon!” 

In front of him, Clint sagged in the hold – and winked. It was the signal Bucky didn’t know he’d been waiting for. “Alright,” he said, raising his hands slowly and turning to face the armed group. “I’ll get rid of it,” he said. He clicked on the safety. Behind him, he could hear the faint sound of jet engines. Making sure they were focused on the Glock, Bucky tossed it high in the air. As he hoped, all nine of them jerked their heads back, following the gun’s arc and allowing him to sprint towards them unseen. As he collided with the nearest mercenary, he heard Clint break free of his hold, and hoped the Taser going off was a good sign as he set about disarming the squad one by one. They were shouting in German, alarmed at how the tables had been turned and not wanting to fire on their own comrades. 

Clint joined in the fray, taking the other side of the semi-circle by surprise and taking them out of commission just as effectively as Bucky. They were halfway through the squad when the jet engines roared overhead, and a volley of bullets scoured the roof at their feet. “Barnes, eyes!” a voice called, and instinctively Bucky grabbed for Clint, pulling him clear of the mercenaries and down into a crouch, covering his eyes as he shut his own tight. A sharp bang made his ears pop, and the mercenaries started wailing. He and Clint turned around as night vision goggles began dropping to the floor, and Sam Wilson landed a few paces away from them. 

“You two okay?” he asked. 

“We’re fine,” Bucky said, watching as red tendrils of magic lifted the automatic rifles into the air, clicking on safeties and dropping ammunition clips out. “Clint’s deaf, though. Batteries died.” 

Sam nodded. “Who are these clowns?” he said as Wanda glided down beside him. 

“No idea.” 

The roof shook slightly as Thor landed on it, glaring distastefully down at the moaning mercenaries before him. “You do not appear to have exerted yourselves in defeating them,” he observed. “Were they not skilled?” 

“Hardly,” Bucky said, glancing at Clint. “Can you guys handle it from here?” he asked Sam. “We’ll meet you back at the Tower. I just want some time to think about this.” 

Sam checked with Wanda and Thor, and agreed. “Watch yourselves,” he said. 

“Of course.” Without thinking, Bucky took Clint by the hand and lead him off the roof. 

The walk back was quiet between them. Bucky was busy going through all the possible suspects who might send in an ill-experienced squad to mess with him, whilst also keeping an eye out for anyone else who might be acting suspiciously. Clint kept pace with him, seemingly watching out too, and the knowledge that he was doing so eased Bucky enormously. Nobody could see things like Clint, and deaf or not, there was no-one he would have rather had by his side. The events of the last two days seemed trivial when put against what they just endured, but it was good to have something he could properly focus on. For once wasn’t worrying about when he might next lose himself to a flashback, or how long he could put up with the Avengers’ behaviour around him. It was oddly refreshing. 

He didn’t realise he hadn’t let go of Clint’s hand until they reached the Tower doors. 

***

“They say they were hired by a Helmut Zemo.” 

Bucky frowned at Steve. “Zemo? As in…” 

Steve shrugged. “Could be related to Heinrich Zemo, could be a coincidence. JARVIS is checking it now.” 

He nodded, arms folded. “It would make sense,” he murmured. “A son or grandson getting revenge on you by taking me out. Could have sent these guys in to test my skill.” 

“It would likely be his son, given that I only took out the Zemo we know after coming back myself. He wasn’t that old when we first clashed.” 

“Whoever this guy is,” Sam said, “there’s a chance he knows his plans were ruined. If he’s smart, he’ll go underground.” 

“That’ll make him harder to catch,” Steve mused. “Not impossible, though.” 

Bucky asked Sam, “Did you get any more out of them than a name?” 

“We know he paid them in cash, and that he only corresponded with one of them.” 

“Covering his tracks,” Steve said, and Sam nodded. 

“But they did tell us where they were hired from: Leipzig.” 

“It’s a start.” 

Sighing through his nose, Bucky dragged a hand down his face. “I’ll deal with this properly tomorrow,” he said. “Right now, I could use a very long sleep.” 

“Not talking about cryo again, are you?” a new voice said, and Bucky was smiling even before he turned to see Clint in the conference room doorway. He blinked guilelessly. “What, too soon?” 

“No, it’s fine,” he said before Steve could respond. Just seeing Clint made him feel happy, and the joke was more than welcome – perhaps it would defrost Steve’s attitude. 

“You got your ears back?” Sam asked, and Clint grinned. 

“They’re not the shiny new ones I was promised, but yeah, it’s nice to hear people reacting badly to my shitty jokes again.” 

“Dammit, now he’ll know we’re faking it,” Steve said, and the four of them chuckled. 

“Anyway, uh, Jess is putting on a movie,” Clint said. “Something sweet and romance-y I think. Apparently there’s been enough action today.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Sam said. “Steve?” 

“I could use some light entertainment. How about you, Buck?” 

Part of him wanted to, but he truly felt drained, and told them as much. They understood, bidding him good night and heading off to the recreation floor. As he went towards his own room, Bucky was stopped by Clint gently calling after him. 

“I didn’t get a chance to ask if you were okay,” he said. 

Bucky smiled. “I’m just tired,” he assured him. “Don’t know how much sleep I’m gonna get tonight, so the longer I have…” Trailing off, he shrugged, not entirely sure where he was going with that. 

“I get it,” Clint said though. “You can never have too much sleep, right?” 

“What about you?” Bucky asked. 

“Well, bad joke reception aside, it really is good to hear again. Think I might reach out to T’Challa, though. Nat was meeting with him today about his Avengers alliance. Figure he’d be cool with having a look at some hearing aid designs and arguing with Tony about how to improve them. It would make the whole process more entertaining, at least.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“You love me for it.” 

“Yeah, I –” Bucky froze. Had he really been about to say… 

Clint stepped closer, each step slow and casual. “I appreciated what you did for me earlier, you know,” he said. “Didn’t feel quite so helpless knowing you were my second eyes and ears.” His cheeks went a little pink, and he ducked his head slightly. “Felt nice on the walk home, too.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled, pulse quickening. Holding onto Clint hadn’t seemed strange or unnecessary at all, not then and not yet. “Do you, um…” He took a deep breath, letting it go quickly. “Do you care?” 

Frowning, Clint said, “About you?” 

“About what I’ve done. In the past.” Thinking back to what Peter said about loving Wade, he continued, “I know I’ve said a lot that I don’t do what I used to do anymore, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t hurt people on a huge scale. A lot of what I did is unforgiveable, and while I’m working on making up for as much of it as I can, I don’t want you to ignore that just because you like who you see now. There’s a lot in here that you haven’t seen,” he explained, tapping his head. “That I haven’t seen, either. I could hurt you again, and if I ever did more than badly bruise your nose, I don’t –” 

Clint kissed him. It was short and quick and definitely caught Bucky by surprise, but when Clint pulled away just as suddenly, he couldn’t help but chase the sensation a little. 

“Look,” Clint said, regarding Bucky hesitantly. “I know you’ve got some baggage. I do, too. My past relationships have all been… complicated. I didn’t always make the best decisions – for myself or for those I loved – and that’s frequently come back to bite me in the ass. You and me, though?” A smile tugged the corner of his mouth up. “I think we make a pretty good team. And like I said yesterday, I think we’re headed in the right direction. Wherever we end up. I’d just… I’d kind of like to give it a shot. With you. Seriously. Without fucking it up. I hope. Um…” He scratched the back of his head, eyes pleading. “Thoughts?” 

He was tired. He was a little sore from the first real fight he’d had in a long time. He wanted to go to bed and not dream of anything. And yet his heart and his stomach were tossing enough butterflies between them that he felt he could lift off on the spot. “You sounded a lot smoother about this yesterday,” he said, smirking. 

Clint scoffed. “Yeah, well, people tell me I’m a lot of things I’m not,” he said. 

“That’s not true.” Bucky moved closer. “You just don’t think you’re a lot of things you actually are.” He kissed Clint this time, before he could say anything to deny Bucky’s statement, and the butterflies left him in one great rush, taking with them all the fears and worries he’d had only the day before. 

***

_Three weeks later_

When Bucky walked into the kitchen for the first time since arriving home, the first thing he was greeted with was the sight of Peter sat on the island lip-locked with Wade, who stood between his legs, as Tony clicked his fingers at them, saying, “Hey, keep it PG, you two. Wilson, hands where I can see ‘em.” 

“God, Tony,” Peter whined, “will you stop with the parenting already? How many times do I have to say you’re not my father?” 

“You know, some people would disagree,” Wade said, right at the moment Clint came around the corner and laid eyes on Bucky. 

Bucky was pretty sure it had been more than seventy years since he’d made someone’s expression light up the way Clint’s did. He felt no shame whatsoever in making out with him right there and then, either, even as Wade cried “The ship is sailing!” and Peter grumbled about role models and double standards and someone – possibly Sam or Carol – wolf whistled from the couches. 

“Hey,” he murmured when they parted, his arms still keeping Clint close. 

“Yeah. Hey,” Clint breathed back, still grinning dopily. “Missed you.” 

“Missed you, too.” 

“As touching as this reunion is,” Tony said loudly, “we already have one lovesick couple in the room. Two is too many. One of you leave.” 

“We were here first,” Wade declared, and Peter rolled his eyes. 

“That’s fine,” Clint said, taking Bucky’s hand. “Bucky needs to change, anyway.” 

“Wow,” Wade said as they left. “Hawkguy’s got style.” 

Bucky snorted. “He doesn’t know the half of it.” 

“Hey, I’ve got plenty of style,” Clint insisted. 

“I know you do,” he said, smirking. 

They passed Steve on their way to Bucky’s room, who smiled knowingly and coughed “Be safe,” into his hand, prompting Bucky to give him the finger in retaliation. They couldn’t get to his room fast enough after that. 

“I was thinking,” Clint mumbled between kisses. 

“Mmh?” Bucky hummed, moving from kissing him into the mattress to mouthing down his jawline. 

“We should really go on a proper date sometime.” 

Pausing, Bucky propped himself directly above Clint, looking down into his eyes. “You mean, more than beers and rooftops?” 

“Yeah. Maybe go to Central Park or something.” 

He snorted. “I hear there’s some pretty nasty snakes there.” 

“Oh. A restaurant, then? Coney Island?” 

Bucky smiled. “Yeah, that does sound good.” Clint leaned up for another kiss, and Bucky melted into it for a moment. “I’ve been thinking too, actually,” he said when they parted for breath. 

“About dates?” 

“Not exactly.” He bumped their noses together gently, recalling the colour Clint’s had been a couple of weeks ago. “I don’t think the sedative should be a first resort anymore.” 

Clint’s eyebrows arched up. “You don’t?” 

He shook his head. “Second, perhaps.” Swallowing, he said, “I think I’d like to work on getting back to myself verbally.” 

It was something he and Steve had tried once while they were hunting down Zemo Jr. According to Steve, he’d still needed the sedative, but he had stopped briefly when Steve had started talking to him, and the damage he’d done had been considerably less than when nobody tried reaching out to him. That, along with Clint’s success at doing so in the past, had made Bucky seriously rethink the flashback protocols. 

“Okay,” Clint said underneath him, nodding. “If that’s what you want.” 

“It is. Kinda getting tired of having needles stuck in my neck, anyway.” 

“Dude, I think out of all of us, you’ve had enough needles stuck in you to last two lifetimes,” Clint blurted, and Bucky laughed. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right about that,” he said, and got back to kissing the sense out of Clint (which, he’d discovered, didn’t take much). 

Sure, he still had rough days in the Tower, and a whole list of people who might want him dead, and a lot of dead people he wanted to atone for, but life was starting to look a little brighter these days. He knew he had the whole team ready to support him if he asked, and places to go to when he needed a break, and – most importantly – someone to watch his back and hold onto him through all of it. All steps in the right direction.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations (loose, as always):
> 
> Auf dem Dach! = On the roof!  
> Sei nicht dumm = Don't be stupid  
> Wer hat dich geschichkt? = Who sent you?  
> Was meint er? = What does he mean?  
> Fick dich! = Fuck you!


End file.
